Marionette
by Beiowulf
Summary: His breath tickled her ear as he leaned over her, positioning her arms just so, ghosting his fingers along the curve of her neck to move a lock of hair into place. her eyes were wide as he snapped away with his camera, occasionally stopping to adjust her stance with discreet touches that hinted at something else. Something that sent a warm shiver down her spine. Based on the songs.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Limelight**

_'Some people feel the rain. Other people just get wet.'_

_-Bob Marley_

* * *

The remote feels cold and heavy in her hand as she groggily flips through the channels , hearing the momentary chatter of a voice before it's cut off and replaced with another. Snips of movies flash over the screen, reflecting dully in her eyes before she moves on, not even flinching when a Tyrannosaurus Rex jumps at her from the screen, it's hissing vanishing as the selection shifts to a Mexican cooking show.

Still aimlessly surfing through the five thousand stations of nothing, she leans back in the bed, her shoulders sinking into a mound of pillows and sheets. Warm cotton brushes against her face as the white bathrobe clothing her rides up slightly and collects around her neck, filling her nostrils with the scent of clean linen.

With a sigh she flips the channel to the local news, toning out the announcer's voice and turning instead to glance out the window, scowling at the heavy curtains that obstruct her view of the sky. She wonders if a maid had come in early this morning and closed them; she certainly didn't last night. White sunlight filters around the edges of the drapes and she hesitantly twitches a few of her fingers, thinking about getting up to push the fabric aside, but determining it to be too much effort and stilling her hand again.

She shuts her eyes, finding a little peace in the blackness that overrides her senses, but stilling noting the whirring of her mind, poking and prodding her to get up like she needs to instead of lying around like she wants to. She battles back with herself with a retort, arguing that if she didn't get some rest soon she'd wind up collapsing in the middle of the day. It doesn't give up, but she does, deciding to ignore the nagging voice and bury her face further into the welcoming pillows.

There's the click of a card being swiped and the door opens, the sounds of chattering voices barely wafting into the room from the areas outside. She raises her head and sends the intruder and irritable look before rising to sit on her heels, surveying the young man suspiciously.

"Room service," he says nervously, an uncertain smile tugging at his lips. He gestures to the cart in front of him, clad with silver dishes. He whips the top of one to reveal a steaming cup of espresso, cream and sugar in small crystal bowls beside it. "You requested it last night when you checked in, remember?" His voice raises in pitch and a slight flush of color dusts the apples of his cheeks as she assesses the drink in silence, reaching out one pale finger to wrap around the handle of the cup and bring it closer to her.

"Hmm, yes." She inhales the steam and watches out of the corner of her eyes as the boy relaxes visibly, seeming to reassure himself that he hadn't done anything wrong. "I remember." She takes a sip of the black coffee, feeling the warmth trickle down her throat and settle in her stomach, lightening her eyelids and sending sparks of energy through her fingertips. Shifting from foot to foot, the attendant's gaze darts to and away from the girl on the bed, seeming more flustered every moment. She raises an eyebrow at him, lowering the cup to her lap to observe him more closely. "Do you need something?"

"Ah…" he gasps in surprise, twirling a strand of blonde hair absentmindedly. "I was just…I mean…You're Miku Hatsune, aren't you?"

The girl blinks and allows herself to slip back into the sort of exasperated leisure that comes with listening to someone about this topic. "Yes, I am." A sigh escapes his mouth and he reaches into his pocket, hastily pulling out a spare napkin and one of the small complementary pencils that were handed out in the lobby.

"Could you please- Would you mind- Your autograph?" his voice comes out in a squeak and his face reddens more. She watches with a cool sort of amusement and sets her drink back onto the cart, reaching out to take the utensil and parchment from his hand.

"Sure," she says with a smile, pressing the napkin against her legs to provide a flat surface. "Who am I addressing this to?"

"Oh, um, not me." He shakes his head vigorously, seeming rather mortified. "It's for my sister. She likes magazines and make-up and that kind of…stuff…" he trails off, seeming to realize that he's babbling, and pulls himself back together, meeting her gaze nervously. "She's a…fan of yours, or something."

Miku nods lightly, whipping her wrist around on the paper in the familiar path of her signature. With flourish of the final 'e' she hands it back to him, sending him on his way with an opaque smile and a bill in his pocket. As the door clicks shut and she's left with the droning of the TV again, she sighs, feeling her shoulders droop down ever so slightly, any energy she had faked leaving now.

Boredly, she lifts the top off the other platter, revealing a tray of scones and coffee cakes, surrounded by slices of fruit. She stares at it for a moment before silently cursing and grabbing a piece of apple, nibbling on the red skin and eyeing the bakery items blamefully. The nut muffin doesn't even flinch.

Chomping down on a few more slices of fruit, she pulls herself out of the bed and saunters over to the window, pulling the shades back and blinking against the bright sun. Light reflects off a nearby skyscraper, blaring directly into her eyes and making the rest of the modern city seem dark. She pulls the robe tighter around her, painfully aware of her own lack of clothing and chuckling slightly when she realizes how awkward that little meeting just now must have been for the boy.

She runs her hands through her hair, untangling turquoise knots in long strand of silky locks and patting down frizzy fly-aways. As she tries to rediscover her part, a soft buzzing erupts from her bedside table, rattling the semi-quiet of the room in short erratic bursts. A long arm reaches over to flip open her phone, checking the message and shutting it as fast as she could the moment the info was received. With a huff the handheld is thrown onto the bed, bouncing once against the sheets, and she turns back to the window. Outside it is warming up to be a wonderful day, with scarcely a cloud in the sky and smog at a minimum. Checking the time out of the corner of her eye she purses her lips, noting that she has less than an hour before her manger would be waiting downstairs for her, ready to set her up for her next gig.

As she sips away the last of her coffee and steps into a steaming hot shower, feeling the heated liquid seep into her bones and untighten things there, she scrubs her face forcefully, trying to wipe off the invisible smears of make-up and concealer that she can't see, but still feels, the way one feels the sting of a slap even after the initial pain has gone away. She runs shampoo through her long hair, letting the foam slide down her back and legs before rinsing it away and repeating the cycle with conditioner. Lovely smells of lavender and honey erupt in the air, but do nothing to lift Miku's decidedly dropping mood.

She shuts the water off with a snap of the facet and quickly towels herself off, wringing out her hair like a wet rag and pulling it off her neck in a messy up-do. With a curse at the clock she reaches into her luggage, pulling out a random outfit and throwing it on before rushing back into the bathroom to make herself decent enough for public consumption.

She grabs up her purse, checking for her phone and room key, before flicking off the lights and shutting the door quietly behind her. Stealing down the hallway, she runs into no one until she hits the elevator, its doors just about to close. Hand extended, she jams her fingers into the closing gap and pushes, the door obediently widening again to let her inside. The few passengers survey her interestedly and for a moment her mind goes into autopilot, getting ready to put on a wide smile and greet cheerfully. However their interest quickly fades and she realizes that most of them are elderly, unlikely to know anything about her or her current field of occupation. She relaxes slightly, leaning against the handrail, but shivering inwardly just a little as a man's gaze lingers on her lengthy legs a bit too long.

The bell dings as they reach the bottom floor and she weasels her way out amid the mass of pushing bodies. Brushing what may or may not be imaginary dust from her arms, she looks around, tired of all the activity on this early morning, eyes focusing on a figure walking towards her, his hands spread out almost appreciatively.

"Ah, Miku," the man sighs and pats her on the back, unsurprised by her less than enthusiastic greeting. "There you are Doll! C'mon, let's get going. I've got a busy day planned out and we have less time than is needed to carry it all out!" He smiles and Miku translates his words internally, her eyes lidding and shoulders doing to best not to slump as she thinks of the workload ahead of her. Looks like it's going to be another late night.

She shifts her bag up her arm and murmurs her consent, glancing up into his purple eyes to gesture that he should continue. Instead, she finds him frowning at her hair, taking a piece of it between his fingers and twirling experimentally.

"Ah, Doll, I know our people are going to take care of you, but honestly…" He clucks between his teeth and begins to move away, shaking his head and tossing violet curls over his shoulder as if to display to her how hair is _supposed _to look. "Bad for publicity." Reaching up, Miku tugs on the tie in her locks, undoing it and causing the damp teal tresses to cascade down her back once more. Her manager glances back, smiling and giving a thumbs up. She smiles coolly and falls into step beside him, bracing herself as the chilled spring air flows through the revolving doors and hits her cringing scalp.

Oh, how she really hates her job.

* * *

**A/N: **Oh yeah! Three straight days of updates! *woot* *woot* I glad I finally got around to starting this but...it's gonna be long. Really long. But hopefully worth all the nights I'll stay up writing it.

**SPECIAL NOTE TO EVERYONE READING: **Okay, first of all thanks so much for reading these random bits of (what I think to be) crap that I post. I appreciate it. However, I'd just like to say that maybe...I'd like more reviews *hides*.

No, no! I'm not blackmailing or threatening not to post another chapter or anything! I'm just saying...for a while now only two people have been reviewing my stuff (you know who you are, none of this applies to you) while I _know_ - stats don't lie - that more than two people have been reading. Reviews encourage me to write, so if you want longer better chapters you should drop me a note telling me what you thought! It doesn't even have to be praise! If I update and just get the regular one or two reviews then I think no one cares about the story so...why even write it?

I don't mean to whine or anything, just remember, it's very hard to write when no one seems to be reading.

(You see that little box down below? Click on it. Something magical will happen.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Snapped**

Miku holds back the desire to wipe a hand across her eyes as a make-up woman dabs at her lips, staining them a bright cherry red. Her lashes feel heavy, clumped with mascara and rimmed with traces of the grey shadow dusting her lids. As she lowers her gaze slightly she can catch sight of each individual strand of the delicate hair, lengthened and curled to perfection.

The lady smacks her lips at her and she follows suit, rubbing her thumbs together to alleviate the irritation all these cosmetics are causing her. She breathes in a breath of powdery air and gently coughs it back out, ignoring the glare of the lady as she moves back to her hair, curling the long locks around an iron.

With an unnoticeable sigh Miku spreads her hands out across her skirt, black and sophisticated, matching perfectly with the simple button down tucked into it. This is one of the less glamorous shoots she has done – a mere magazine flyer for an electronics company – and she finds herself relaxing slightly, assured that it's unlikely that she would become covered in feathers or stripped half-naked or any of the other degrading things people have ordered on her in the past.

A final curl of warm teal hair falls to her back and she stands, noting herself in the mirror for a moment. Seeing it in person, her obsessive hairdo and heavy make-up seem ridiculous, fanatical, but on the screen she's learned that it will be just the opposite; she'd look just like every other ad if not for the cosmetics that fade in the bright light and serve to only make her eye-catching. There's no such thing as overdone when any attention is good attention.

Someone snaps and she glances sideways, seeing her manger stride up and assess her, nodding after a moment and ushering her over to where a white expanse of fabric is draped, umbrella lights shining full blast. She pulls herself into a light and perfect posture, letting a small smile trace across her lips before stepping onto the fabric, stopping at a small red 'x' scored across it. She faces the lights, blinking to adjust her eyes, and slowly focuses on the people behind the cameras, listening for their orders.

Her brows furrow against her will as she stares through the glare to the empty darkness behind. She waits a moment, silently waiting for someone to appear and tell her what to do, how to pose, before glancing back the way she came. Her manger has run off somewhere, likely talking to the cosmetologists, and she is left alone in the set, feeling confused, let down, and a little annoyed.

There's a flash and a click as her picture is snapped, her pupils shrinking and dilating again at the sudden change of light. She turns back to the cameras, blinking once more, and squinting as she peers through the brightness to find whoever is manning the equipment.

Her eyes fall on a man, his eyes lowered to observe the screen of a laptop. In the darkness behind the lights he almost seems to blend into the background, his dark clothing and hair seeming like a mere discoloration of the far wall. His pale skin echoes back white where light from the screen touches it and small silvery squares reflect in his neutral eyes. Only his fingers move as he types something into the laptop, pulling a file from here to there. Miku can't decide whether he had just arrived in the past few seconds or if he had been standing back there the whole time, blending in with the obscurity.

With a definite click of the mouse pad he raises his gaze from the computer and locks his eyes on her. She stares back, waiting for an order, a comment, an introduction, but having no such thing come. His gaze bores into her, somehow heavy yet distant, and she realizes that he's waiting for _her _to speak.

"I…I wasn't ready." Her voice comes out surprisingly loud, sounding assertive even to her own ears. The man shifts his position, tapping something again on his equipment and moving his gaze off her. She breathes in, surprised at the way the air in the room seems to have lightened with just that movement.

"I know," is his simple response, his voice low and monotone, with the strangest hint of tedium underneath. She finds herself stepping forward, bringing herself a few feet closer to the man to catch his hushed words.

"Then why'd you-?" she cuts herself off, wishing to retract the words as soon as she said them. It is her experience that conversation is usually not wanted for from the people she works with. They want to get the job done and leave, collect some green bills and maybe idly chat around a bar later about who's screwing who while their cheeks flush red with alcohol. Before she can move her gaze away however, or step back to her original position, the man grabs the top of the laptop, spinning the machine around to face her.

There's a picture of her displayed on the screen; the one he must've just taken. She holds her breath as she surveys the photo, white and stark, and the echo of herself in it, the pose she had unwittingly taken just a moment ago. Only the profile of her face is visible, aquamarine curls tumbling over one shoulder as she turned. Her stance is wide, her legs straining at the fabric of the skirt as her arms sway with momentum. Wide blue eyes gaze off into the distance expectantly, holding just a bit of grief. It's a dramatic looking stance and it rings almost comically in Miku's mind that all she had been doing at the time was looking for someone to explain to her what was going on.

"It was a good shot," he replies simply and pulls the computer back around to face him. He clicks around a few more times, the light of the screen bouncing off his pale face and casting long shadows. Miku stands quietly, stretching her patience in the silence and still waiting for orders. Her gaze never leaves his face, but either he doesn't notice or doesn't care and just continues on with his electronic work.

She watches his eyes move back and forth over the screen, seemingly reading, and steps forward again. Gathering courage she briskly walks the rest of the way, coming to a stop at his side and glancing at the screen. A red four flies across the board to land on a black three. He's playing solitaire.

"Who are you?" Her words come out rather incredulously but the man only shrugs, moving an ace to the side.

"The photographer."

"Then shouldn't you be…taking photos?"

He lifts his head slightly, straightening his stance until he reaches full height, looming a good foot above Miku. She stares up at him, seemingly bored and slightly intimidating, and notices that the dark eyes she thought to be black are actually a very deep blue, like half-lidded tidal pools.

"Who are you?" he retorts, his voice dry. Miku furrows her eyebrows slightly.

"The model."

The man blinks slowly, raising a hand and gesturing over to the area she had come from. "Then shouldn't you be posing?" A thumb jabs at the white sheet covering the wall, his voice low and grumbly. "Over there?"

She sticks her chin out, glad for once of the concealer on her skin as she feels her face flush. Without a word she moves back to the red mark in the floor, turning to face the cameraman. He stares back impassively, his gaze slowly raking up and down her with an intensity that leaves her feeling rather raw. She's used to the look-over most photographers give her when she meets them and she prepares herself for their critical remarks, but something about the way he inspects her seems different. Instead of just focusing on the attributes she knows most stylists notice about her – long legs, tiny waist, big eyes – he seems to be looking at everything, visible or not, desirable or not, and his expression remains unruffled and inexpressive. By the time he looks over to write something down she feels like somehow he had read her entire life story without her ever writing it out.

"Bend over." She blinks mutely and he gazes back deadpan, his head jerking to the right. "Sideways." Awkwardly she stretches her torso to the side, her view of the room slanting. With an irritated sigh he sets his pencil down and strides out into the light, the lamps reflecting off his tousled hair and revealing it to be a brilliant shade of cobalt. He moves behind her without a word, fingers wrapping around her hips without preamble and pushing them to the left, her upper body remaining tilted to the right. A hand slides down to grip her knee, staggering her stance and pointing her feet outward. He steps back and comes to her front, looking up and down with the same dispassionate glare that Miku is beginning to think is normal.

She finds herself moving into the pose, shifting her weight and bringing up a hand to her hip, the other hanging in the air near her face almost teasingly. Tilting her head up and away she flashes a wide smile, barely showing her teeth. Her lashes flitter down just enough to frame large aqua orbs, but not detract from them. A strand of curls falls down her shoulder to leave the rest in a neat wave down her back.

He turns and walks back to his station, briskly snatching up a lens and attaching it before snapping ten photos in quick succession. He moves a little with each one so there's a new angle, a new perspective each time. With the last click, he lowers the tool away from his face, eyes lowered and brows slightly knitted. Pushing himself up from his knees he moves back to the laptop, retrieving a microchip from the camera and inserting it into a drive.

Miku pulls herself out of the stance, wincing at the release of the uncomfortable pull it had put on her left leg. Instantly his gaze flashes back to her, dark and heavy, and she halts her actions, looking back questioningly.

"I didn't say we were done." She squares her shoulders at the statement, wondering how easy – or hard – it would be to convince him into taking that pose and holding it. A retort bubbles up under her lips, surprising her, but before it can escape a hand presses onto her shoulder and she glances up, meeting the nonchalant violet gaze of her manger.

"So, I see you two have met." He hums a little tune as he glances between the two of them, his head swaying with the music. The photographer reluctantly nods in his direction, noting his arrival. If her manger noticed the complete dullness with which the shutterbug watched him he didn't express it, and just babbled on encouragingly to Miku.

"Crypton has signed on for you for the next month. They want you to be their new covergirl," he explains at her blank expression and hands her a packet of papers and a pen, indicating where she would need to sign to secure the deal with said electronics corporation. "They noticed your rising popularity and thought it best to strike while the iron's hot!" He chuckles at his own words and continues pointing out things in the contract for Miku to attend to as he continues. "If all goes well, we may have business with them for a while yet!"

Flipping through the sheets, she blindly signs empty lines, assured that someone will have already looked over the details and not really caring about them anyway. She never has a problem with any kind of agreement or payment; it's usually her manager who starts a fire and demands more money, more publicity. Authorizing the final paper she hands the stack back, following when he gestures for her to come along. Handing the contract off to someone he strikes up another conversation, chatting and laughing and leaving Miku to gaze tiredly around the studio. Her eyes trail back to the set, where the lights are still shining brightly. Her brow furrows as she recalls the first thing her manager had said when he came over there, remarking on her meeting the photographer as if it was important. With a frown she takes a step back towards the area, peering into the darkness beyond the lights, but finds that there is nothing there to see.

* * *

**Kaito: **Bend over.

**Miku: **O/O Whut.

**Kaito: **SIDEWAYS.

**Miku: **Oh, wait...is that possible?

Get your mind out of the gutter Miku (This was soooooo not intended XD)

**A/N: **Ah yes...Kaito is a jerk. This is so strange to write compared to my last MikuxKai story. Everyone is practically their opposites...

And yay! Reviews! See? This is what happens when I feel loved! You get a quick update!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Remote**

Miku had been having the most restful sleep. The hotel room had been cleaned while she was away and she returned to fresh sheets and the scent of lemons wafting out from the toilet. After taking her second shower of the day she had popped a mint from the bedside table and fell into bed, halfheartedly skimming the TV channels before drifting off into a dreamless slumber.

Mornings have always been Miku's favorite time of day; she loves the awakening stillness, the quiet, the hopeful feel of starting over, and she treasures every second of her peaceful solitude sipping espresso before cameras and dresses and hairspray takes over. That's why as she is shaken awake this morning, the light hitting her lids not sunlight but artificial fluorescent, she's quite tempted to reach out and slap the face that looms over her, smiling and cheery as always.

"Darling, get up." Her manager pulls the covers down, not batting an eyelash at her half-naked figure; he's seen her and others in much less. "I'm going to miss my flight."

Miku sits up, deciding against her violent intentions – she wants to keep her job after all – and eyes him confusedly, pulling the large T-shirt to cover the tops of her thighs. "Flight?" Her voice is slurred from raw from sleep. "Where are we going?"

He clucks his tongue, rocking back and forth on his heels. "_We_ aren't going anywhere. You're staying here. I'm going to Aruba." Miku stares blankly, wondering why he is being so vague if he's in such a hurry. The man pats her on the shoulder. "Paid vacation Hon. You're all set up here so I thought it would be a good time to use up my free days." He shrugs, smiling opaquely. "Spring break is coming, and my girl back home is getting cabin fever."

Miku feels her brain shutting down in the usual way whenever he chats. Although he had always seemed rather open and friendly to her she just couldn't get past the suspicion that it was a front or some kind of façade that came along with the business. It's always confusing whenever the train of conversation wanders into personal lives like this; Miku can't decide whether it's just to fill space, build trust, or just share slices of life. Usually she just plays it safe and sticks to professional discussion. It's not like he really wants to her about her private life anyway.

"So…what do I do while you're gone?" The entire point of having a manager is to organize your agenda, isn't it? Miku finds herself rather confused at his assurance of her being 'all set up here'. She's never had to get herself to her own meetings or communicate with business partners. That's his job. If his idea of prepared is having a load of official crap dumped on you while the person who actually knows how to handle it runs off to a tropical paradise, then she will seriously consider finding a new assistant.

He tilts his head worriedly. "You do your work. Crypton, remember?" She nods slowly, understanding that she has a contract but not getting where he is going with this. He raises his hands pleadingly. "The people there will take care of it. Just head over to the set we were at yesterday." Taking her frown as a response he steps lightly over to the door, waving a hand over his shoulder in farewell. "Show them what you're made of!"

"Have fun Mr. Kamui." Miku cringes inwardly at his comment, finding his overly sociable behavior off-putting yet again and raising her own hand to speak politely. He had asked her in the past to call him by his first name, or 'Gak', or any other variety of ridiculous things, but she had found herself unable to, concluding the designation of her manager as 'Po-Po' a tad too upsetting.

The door shuts with its usual click and she's left alone in the room again, sighing as she notes the time to be too early for much of anything. The pillows whisper to her gently, urging her to fall back into the comforting plushness, but she's already wide awake thanks to her too hectic of an early morning and forces herself to stand, stretching her arms and extending shaky legs. The artificial light casts the room in a stark yellow tone, turning the pleasant whites and creams of the walls into an unappetizing mustard color. She pushes the light switch to down with a flip of her hand and strides over to the windows, opening the curtains and gazing across a slowly lightening sky.

Buildings are hazy in the dawn dew, blurred shapes sticking up from a world of concrete wet after late night rain. Fog hangs in the air, catching the slight sunlight and lighting up the surroundings with patches of cloudy brightness. Blinking dully, Miku retreats back into the dimness of the room, slipping into the bathroom for a shower.

After standing under the hot water for a good fifteen minutes and fixing herself up her eyelids feel considerably less heavy and she glances around, grabbing a blouse and pair of jeans before strapping on her shoes and leaving the room, bag secured on her shoulder. The hallway is mutedly lit with small lamps every eight feet or so, their gold light shining in ambience on the maroon carpeting. Smooth wooden doors line both walls, polished brass handles shining. There's not much sound through the suites as it's too early for most people to be up and about. Most of them are probably only just opening their eyes, pushing back the covers to tap a finger down on the alarm.

Deciding against the elevator, Miku takes the stairs, trotting down them briskly to bring her body to attention. Pushing through a set of double doors, the lobby is gold themed with couches facing each other around tables and powered off flat-screens adorning nearby walls. It's empty save for a few of the staff, who glance at her curiously as she steps off into the buffet room.

A small platter of eggs soon finds its way into her stomach, followed by a glass of orange juice. Sitting at a lonesome table near the wide windows she watches people pass by outside on their way to work as a few early rising patrons trickle into the room. Pushing her chair in, she rises, looking around for a place to put her dishes. A gaze catches hers across the room and its owner smiles, gesturing down to the table. He'll get it for her. She nods at the familiar blonde boy and moves around the edge of the dining hall to exit.

Miku finds herself wishing for a jacket as she steps into the chilled morning air, pulling her arms around herself and quickly hailing down the closest cab she can find. She passes up a slip of paper containing the address of the shoot to the cabby and settles back into the upholstery, running her fingers along the fabric and feeling where the smoothness has been worn down by years of passengers. The driver tries to chit-chat with her, remarking on the weather, the traffic, asking about herself, but her responses are quick and reserved. Eventually he gives up on conversation, simply taking her to her destination and grunting when she offers him a bill.

Feeling a touch guilty for her slightly cold behavior, Miku strides up to the large building ahead. She vaguely remembers the slant of the windows and the shade of the walls and concludes it to be the place she had come to yesterday. Trailing into the dimly lit elevator she surveys the rows of buttons, cursing herself for not paying more attention. After pressing several keys the doors close and the tiny room ascends, stopping every couple of seconds to reveal a hallway to her, each as unfamiliar as the last.

After seven floors and many a sigh of annoyance, the silver gates open to a dim hallway, long, but with only a few doors marking the walls. Making her way down the corridor she checks each door, searching for something she remembers, until she stops at the fourth entrance down, a room marked as 708. The number rings in her mind and she knocks, hoping for a winner or at least a friendly disappointment. She gets neither. No one comes to the door. Frowning, she knocks again, still receiving no answer.

Glancing around, no other rooms seem familiar in the slightest and she is more certain every second of the shoot being just behind this door. With a long-distance promise to Kamui to make his life difficult whenever she sees him again she hesitantly tugs on the door knob, relaxing as she feels it turn under her grip.

Her attention more focused than the first time she was here, Miku takes in her surroundings. The suite seems to be some kind of remodeled luxury apartment with most of the furniture removed and replaced with green screens and suitcases and cosmetics tables. The white stage she remembers still dominates the far side of the main room, loomed over by black umbrella lamps, now turned off. Old doughnut and carry-out boxes litter the corners and light bulbs hang naked from the ceiling. Large floor to ceiling windows are covered by black out curtains, just the faintest hint of light struggling in at the edges.

Out of the corner of her eye something moves in the dim and otherwise empty room. Her lips press together as the figure comes closer, slowly stepping into the light of the doorway.

He flips a switch and the room lights up considerably. The photographer eyes her with distant boredom, his hand falling to his side after a moment. "You're a little early." His gaze never leaves her and she forces herself to not look away. With a moment of silence he moves back into the space of the room, the loss of eye contact feeling like a rubber band breaking. She follows, setting her bag down lightly on a chair and gazing around, noticing the lack of people other than them.

"Why are you here so early?" she inquires, finding it odd that he would prefer to hang around in dark photo-shoots before hours. Halfway across the room he pauses, looking back over his shoulder with the same unreadable glare she remembers.

"Why are you here so early?" She frowns at his response, feeling peculiarly riled up at his strangely childish argument tactics.

"Don't answer my question with a question."

He blinks tediously, as if even just that simple movement is wasted if it's done for her. Seating himself onto a tall bar stool he reaches over into his work station, clicking a few buttons and having the machines whirr to life. "I had to set everything up," is his simple response, seeming both complete and ambiguous at the same time. She replies with a nod, waiting for some other train of conversation, but having none come. Choosing to instead stare openly at the profile of his face while he works, she lets her mind wander as they wait for the rest of the crew to arrive.

* * *

**A/N: **How did this chapter wind up being so long but not being about anything? Well, whatever. I'm trying a new writing style for this story; I've always admired people who have fics that long and detailed enough to be actually books, so I'm trying to mimic that. Tell me what you think, and as always reviews make me cry with happiness!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Overhead**

A curiously small number of stylists arrived, all in one wave like a small pack of chittery lip-stick bearing squirrels. They descended on Miku quickly, pulling her into a corner of the room and beginning to strip her down before she could argue her modesty and shelter herself behind a discarded sofa. Fitting herself into a tight pair of scarlet jeans and a ruffled white blouse she peers over the top of the cushions, catching the eye of a young lady who bounces over.

"Shoes!" is all she says and points crossly at Miku's shabby black flats. Removing them quickly she watches as the lady dashes over to a trunk in the corner of the room, strangely reminiscing a child playing dress up. Miku feels herself being steered away from the scene and plopped into a chair where the usual critiquing and color-coordinating begins. Palettes of rosy shades and hushed greys are held up to her skin, dabs of color slapped on her face and hastily wiped away.

Settling into the usual numb tedium of her day to day life, Miku lets her eyes wander around the large room and gaze down dark hallways leading off of it. She wonders how large of a place this suite is and what it used to be. Observing the isolated table in the center of an empty kitchen, a stiletto is slipped onto her left foot, but a chorus of dissatisfaction arises and the shoe is yanked off, replaced by knee high black boots, and then nothing at all. Staring blankly at the opaque curtains, Miku tries to ignore the rubbing of a filer along her toes and the fingers smearing creamy coloring across her skin, hiding the tiny imperfections there. The tiny bit of light at the edge of the fabric at the window seems to mock her, showing her just a bit of what she knows is a lovely day but hiding the rest greedily.

A man yells at her to keep her eyelids up and she obeys, feeling the coolness of an eyeliner stick swoop along her waterline and shadow being dusted atop the delicate skin. Eyes occupied, she listens to her surroundings, hearing the pop of bottles being opened and the rhythmic strokes of a brush through her hair. A familiar clicking echoes from further away and she raises her eyebrows, the only part of her face not being worked on. The sound of a laptop screen snapping shut reaches her ears, followed by the dull scraping of an object across the floor.

Her eyes flutter open on command and she stands, following the designers to where two others are moving the table in front of a covered window, sliding a wooden chair beside it. Nearby the photographer readjusts his moved equipment, setting the lighting low as the curtains are pulled back behind her to create a stunning cityscape background. With a nod to the designers he dismisses them, the stylists obeying obediently to Miku's surprise. The shutterbug continues messing with the lighting, moving around lanterns and changing filters to create an ambient and sleepy effect.

She stands there somewhat expectantly, hoping for some kind of direction so that she doesn't have to assert herself again. It quickly becomes clear that nothing of the sort of going to occur and she sighs heavily, his gaze ghosting up to her with a hint of exasperation.

"The chair." His voice is terse as he jerks his head to the set-up of the table. She sits down briskly, silently watching him stretch to set a light diffuser and glance back at her, eyes surveying every molecule of matter in view. Turning around to get a better picture, one hand reaches up to adjust a lamp, shining its beam directly into her eyes. She squints and holds herself from leaning back, raising an eyebrow at him through the glare.

"It will create a sparkle in your eyes," he replies indifferently. She frowns, feeling her vision distort with the onslaught of light and having his outline become hazy. There's silence for a moment before the tiniest of breaths reaches her ears and he stoops over, picking up something and attaching it to what she assumes is the camera; it's hard to tell with the black spots in her vision. "Just one shot," he says somewhat softly and his figure moves, standing perpendicular to her and the window. "Strike a pose."

She blinks, leaning against the table at random and crossing one leg over the other. It isn't often that someone tells her to 'strike a pose' or anything as ambiguous as that. There's usually a very clear image in her photographer's mind and she just has to listen so they can impress it upon her, mold her like piece of clay into whatever they want her to be. This doesn't seem to be this man's intent though; in the short time she's spent with him he's never given a definite order or demanded a specific stance. He doesn't seem to care what she does as long as it looks good and Miku can't decide whether she likes that or not.

The brighter flash of light leaves her completely blind, her vision swimming with green and strange blinking patches. She holds up a finger, gesturing for him to wait a moment, while her sight clears and the room comes back into focus, seeming darker than she remembers. In front of her the man watches impassively, lowering the lens from his face only now and tilting his lips very slightly upwards. A smile doesn't seem to be quite the right word to Miku - it's too small and hesitant – but it's different from his normal expression and it catches her attention all the same.

His gaze flickers back to hers, quiet and analyzing. With a yell over his shoulder someone comes running, placing a shiny new laptop on the table, its browser open to some kind of shopping page. The photographer gives the man a few more words before turning back to the lights, shifting them out of Miku's eyes.

"Get ready," he murmurs, raising the lens again. Miku sees herself reflected in it, prim looking, but with a hint of messiness to her hair and casualness to her bare feet that give off a distinctly 'just out of bed' feel. In her position with the laptop she looks like a stylish socialite waking up to check their email.

All the same she frowns at him. "What am I supposed to be doing?" He stares at her blankly.

"Posing." He says it almost curiously, as if she is a small child that needs educating.

"In what way?" She knits her eyebrows, not exactly angry but confronted with a new kind of feeling of freedom that she is not used to.

He shrugs heavily. "I don't know." His hand falls to his side, swinging the camera at a dangerous speed. "You're the model. Do something...eye-catching." He seems almost confused at the last word, a hint of anxiety working its way into his tone as he lifts the lens back up. She shifts her seat, too perturbed by this new outlook to continue questioning, and leans forward, her torso tilting up and hands folded neatly in her lap. He snaps a few shots before halting, his eyes meeting hers wordlessly, and she moves into a new position. They fall into a rhythm and Miku finds herself lost in the flash of the light, the feeling of keys against her hand, and smiling almost truly at it all. It's not exactly enjoyable – she's not sure anything could make modeling such - but it's curious, new, not having someone telling her what to do makes her think.

She shifts and he clicks, someone occasionally dropping in to add or take a prop, until the lighting changes and her face casts into shadow, the sun now almost overhead. They then move to a wall, a balcony, even the hallway. A stylist pulls her aside every now and again to switch out her outfit and afflict her with more cosmetics but she is soon pushed back in front of the lens, snapped at again and again as she takes stances on the fly, posing as the first thing that comes to her mind.

By the time the photographer stalks over to his computer to unload the images Miku's legs feel like jelly, her muscles shaking from standing in weird positions for so long. With a glance at the hair-stylist she tugs out her stylish up-do and pulls all the hair away from her face, tying it into a long ponytail. She sheds the high-heels she had been stuffed in and ducks behind the couch again to switch back into her jeans and button-down blouse. Her feet fit comfortably into her worn-in flats and she swings her legs over the back of the loveseat, sliding down the cushions to rest against its arm.

With the slamming of a door a young boy appears in the room, blowing gum and looking bored with his job. He holds out a stack of pizza boxes to the nearest person and grabs their money, walking away without even counting it. The worker lays out the boxes - slipping a slice of pepperoni out of one -across any flat surface available and the other designers swarm, darting in to grab a slice and retreating back to their respective areas with a vicious kind of contentment.

Miku watches almost enviously. The stylists seem to be their own kind of team – they probably are hired as one and work together all the time. She sees them joking together and elbowing each other, the grease of junk food and oil of lip-gloss accidently dripping on their neighbors clothing. Turning her gaze away, she eyes the boxes curiously, her stomach giving a weak growl. That plate of eggs seems like a long time ago and the smell of melted cheese is just a little too tempting.

Her hand stops inches away from a large slice of Hawaiian as another figure comes into her line of vision. She glances to the side to see the photographer, not looking at her but past her, towards the chatting stylists, while one finger toys aimlessly with the lid of a box. She glances back, noting the noise and life over there and the quiet and still over here and feels slightly subdued. At least she's not the only outsider.

After a moment he looks away, reaching down to take a portion and then resting his eyes on her. "You're eating pizza." It's more a question than a statement. She glances down at the greasy food her fingers hover over.

"Technically I'm not yet." He doesn't give a visible response, just narrows his eyes a bit, seeming impatient. She frowns and picks up a slice, bringing it to her lips and taking a delicate bite. He watches with unusual interest as she chews, his own slice laying limp in his grip. She swallows, closing her eyes and opening them with a glare, a strange need to prove herself in some way to this man overpowering her; although, she's not exactly sure how eating pizza is supposed to prove anything.

Apparently it does. He blinks, eyebrows rising marginally. Glancing away his gaze is thoughtful and he takes an experimental bite of his food as well. Now she watches him, confusion bubbling in disorderly words under her lips. "That's…different." She leans forward ever so slightly, wondering if he really had whispered those soft words, and if so what is was that he was referring to.

"What?" The word comes out before she can stop it. He turns to her, features suddenly hardening in a strange way before he shrugs, masking the coldness of his previous expression with an uncaring gesture. Without another word he walks away, back to his computer, and Miku is left alone, glancing back and forth between the close-knit group of friends and the indifferent photographer, not really knowing which is worse.

* * *

**A/N:** _NO! NOT THAT ANYTHING BUT THAT! AHHHH! IT'S GOT ME! IT'S PULLING ME IN! NO! IT'S A DEMON! IT'S A DISEASE! IT'S __**WRITER'S BLOCK!**_

Sorry it took me a while to update. I'd sit down at my computer everyday and practically claw my eyes out trying to write but failing. I finally pushed out the next chapter but gosh...I hope this goes away soon. :^:


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Rotten Apples**

With great reluctance Miku had set the small alarm on her bedside to seven o'clock, turning the volume on the radio up to a level deemed capable of waking her. The speakers now let loose a flurry of obscene music which is quickly silenced by her swinging hand, feeling around the tabletop for a moment before finding the snooze button and pressing down fervently. She waits a moment before opening her eyes, her lips turning up slightly at the sight of sunlight streaming through the unobstructed window; she had made certain last night to open the curtains before to sleep for this express reason.

Slightly motivated by the brightness of the weather she pulls herself upwards, tugging a strand of hair out of her eyes and placing it behind her ear. She swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands, forcing her legs to remain and not collapse under her at the too sudden movement after being stationary for so long. With a shake of her draining head she strolls to the bathroom to clean herself up. She frowns at the mirror, tugging at the lids of her black smudged eyes. Apparently she hadn't done as good of a job of removing her make-up as she thought. With a sigh she reaches over to the shower and turns on the water, warming it up as she strips her clothing, deciding that it will be one of those days where she has to take two showers.

Her eyes stinging from rubbing them so hard she travels back into the main room, drying her wet hair with a towel. She barely has enough time to throw on a pair of capris and a shirt before a knock sounds at the door. She calls out "Come in" and the entry opens with a click, revealing a vaguely familiar boy smiling sheepishly as he pushes a cart in.

"Room service," he states, pointing out the obvious. Miku almost wants to laugh at how nervous he looks. Is he always this timid? She's not famous enough for it to be fearful admiration, right? Maybe it's just because she's a woman? With an internal chuckle she nods at him, sitting down on the bed and reaching out to wrap her fingers around a warm cup of caffeine. He stands there for a moment, shuffling his feet, before reaching out to a platter and revealing a steaming bowl of oatmeal, blueberries dotting the beige here and there.

"You never specified what you wanted, so I brought up something healthy." He scratches his chin, words going faster and ever raising in pitch. Miku watches amusedly from behind the rim of her cup as the boy worriedly fills the silence. "You don't really like junk food, do you? Like the cakes and things? Guess you have to keep your figure, modeling and all…" his babbling stops and his face flushes bright red, hands waving in front of his face hectically. "Not that there's anything wrong with your figure! You're beautiful!" Miku raises her eyebrows and his voice pitches up even more. "No! I mean- you…" He trails off as she shakes her head.

"You're precious," she laughs lightly, finding his anxiety strangely humorous.

He merely knits his eyebrows at the comment before taking a step back towards the door. "Just put the cart outside the door when you're done." Miku nods, her eyes trailing away and towards the window again. The door swings almost silently in its hinges before coming to a soft halt as it hits the door frame. She picks at the blue and beige mush and sips scalding mouthfuls of coffee as the world slowly lightens more, pushing her to rise from her seat and head out.

The outside is alive with springtime, even here in the heart of urbanization. Miku eyes the trees lining the boulevards as she sticks her hand into traffic, waving it back and forth. Tiny reddish-green buds push out from barren winter branches, seeming like miniature rubies at the end of a thick curling wire. As she stoops into the taxi that pulls up she smiles at a small bird that flutters in among the twigs. After giving her destination to the cabby she leans back in the seat, blinking at the cloudless sky a few times before turning to her phone, checking her email and then settling down and closing her eyes.

The trip to the set takes less time than she remembers and she quickly finds herself hauling herself upwards and fishing a bill out of her purse for the driver. Stepping out into the cool morning air she hurries over to the door, all sounds from outside suddenly cutting off as the entrance shuts behind her, leaving her in a silent white lobby. Surer of her destination today than before she strides to the elevator and presses the '7' button, leaning against the handrail as the machine begins to rise.

The doors slide open to a familiar shadowy hallway, the curtained window at the end the only source of light. Feeling slightly unsettled by the seeming desertion of the place she hurries to the forth door on the right and turns the handle, not bothering to knock.

It opens to a surprisingly similar scene as before; a mostly empty apartment with various photo-shoot supplies lying around. The only difference Miku can find is that the carry-out boxes and trash in the corners have been cleaned up and the blackout curtains are pulled back, light gauzy sheets just barely inhibiting the sunshine from entering the room. She steps inside, glancing around her at the empty chairs, her ears ringing in the silence. She clutches tighter to her bag, suddenly feeling uneasy, and wanders farther in, looking around to corners to try and glimpse a face. Halfway across the room she picks up the discreet sound of fabric against fabric, sliding hastily and then halting. Her gaze traces the source of the noise, trailing over to where two navy eyes focus on her perplexedly.

He turns further in his chair, his feet pointing towards her like arrows onto a target. His face remains neutral, but Miku can tell that he's somehow surprised to see her. "What are you doing here?" The words are spoken in a manner that would usually be too quiet, but fit in perfectly with the current environment. Miku breathes out a sigh she hadn't realized she'd been holding and relaxes her tensed muscles.

"What do you mean? I'm here to work." He blinks at her once before turning back to his laptop, pulling something across the screen with a tablet set in front of him.

"Don't need to." His speech is mumbled and hard to understand but she raises her eyebrows all the same. Without glancing over to register her reaction he continues on "I've got enough to work with. No more."

Miku stands there for a moment, thinking and processing, before suddenly returning to the moment to nod her head and bid the man goodbye. He doesn't respond, just blows a strand of cobalt hair out of his eyes as she leaves. The door shuts and she halts in the hallway confusedly, running a hand through her ponytail and twisting the ends. There's no more work for her here? Well, that's all fine and good she supposes; it's not like she'll get paid any less. With a strange sigh she exits the building and looks around the surrounding area.

It's mostly converted apartments like the one she was in by the looks of it. There aren't many people about and cars pass by occasionally. She frowns as she begins taking long strides down the pavement, looking for something to do. It's a little odd that a professional company would choose to set up shop in a sleepy neighborhood like this on the outskirts of town. With a wandering thought she turns down street and dully scans the nearby buildings. There's a closed café and a gas station with flickering lights, some guy leaning against the pump. She watches for a second, seeing if she's missing anything, before continuing on down the road to see if she can find a park or something.

There are a few shrubs planted along the sidewalk here, but none of the spritely and clean-cut saplings that adorn the streets near her hotel. She comes to a crossroads and looks around again, her gaze meeting only empty one-story houses and dusty driveways; it would seem that most residents around here are either at work or school. At a house down a ways a lady exits her home to hang some laundry on a line, but reenters quickly, the slam of her door echoing through the streets until it mixes with the sounds of traffic in the distance.

Miku remains rooted at the crossroads, not really knowing which way to go. She doesn't have a plan – she usually doesn't need one. It's not very often that she has free time to spend however she wants. The idea of wasting days away with a glowing screen doesn't interest her, and she hasn't been visiting this city long enough to know any local hotspots. She supposes a library or town's center would always be a good place to start, but the idea of walking in there like some kind of tourist makes her acutely squeamish.

With a tired tilt of the head she crosses the road, determining the street to her left to be leading back into the heart of urbanization. Deciding to at least take a nice walk through the city before returning to her suite she lifts her head up, trying to focus forward but instead catching a snap of something out of the corner of her eye. She almost stops but forces herself to keep walking, keeping her muscles relaxed and head high even as her brain whirls.

Her pace speeds up almost unnoticeably, but for her it cannot go fast enough. She's painfully aware of the lack of people around her as she speeds through the streets, hands clenching of their own accord. Without thinking she turns and circles around the block, charging quickly ahead for a few moments on the new side of it. Her ears tingle with expectation for a sound, any sound, as her eyes desperately try to work their way back through her head and see what's behind her.

She crosses the road again, changing direction on the other side to discreetly peek at where she had come. With a silent curse she speeds up more, reaching into her purse to grip her cell, her nails bending against the hard plastic cover. Her legs carrying her swiftly across the concrete and push her forward, making dangerous dashes through alleyways in an attempt to get to her destination faster.

She suddenly breaks into familiar territory, sprinting past the deserted gas station and propelling herself towards the complex on the opposite street. She swears she can hear the pounding of feet behind her, getting ever closer, and she desperately tries to remember what little bit of self-defense she had taught herself. She had bought an e-book on the topic once, considering the skill useful but hoping she would never have to use it. As she crashes through the front doors of the building and stumbles across the lobby to the stairwell, she wonders why she hadn't read those pages more attentively.

She takes the stairs in twos, using the handrails to propel her upwards. Her sides hurt after just four flights but she pushes on, thrusting herself through the door on the seventh landing and tearing down the hallway on a high of pure adrenaline. She swings open the door and shuts it behind her, turning the lock and eyeing the deadbolt meaningfully. After a moment of scrambling with the mechanism she sighs, tossing her bag onto the lone sofa and wandering into the main room again.

He's already turned to the sound of the noise, his eyebrows furrowed and hand gripping a stapler with passion. Miku can't help but wonder if he was considering attacking the possible intruder with the tool, and if so, she's certain he knows how to use it. She brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear and plasters on a professional smile. The photographer doesn't seem fazed and just continues staring, a finger toying with the stapler menacingly.

"Mind if I hang here for a while?" If possible his glare seems to grow even more taciturn and the silence takes on an icy edge. For a moment their gazes are glued to each other, uncomfortable electricity prickling between them but neither one weak enough to look away. After a moment the man opens his mouth, his eyebrows screwing upwards a bit before he speaks.

"Fine." The sharp word is almost lost as he quickly rotates back to his work, seemingly cutting off Miku's existence from his perception. She considers thanking him, but stops herself, remembering that this is a company facility after all and she has full right to be here. Even with that self-assurance it takes her a moment to settle down on the sofa, feeling that somehow she's intruding. Her gaze switches from the sky out the window to the man back to the window, looking for something varying in the shades of blue but finding nothing of the sort.

* * *

**A/N: **This is the last chapter I wrote before I lost steam. I'm officially going on a hiatus from Marionette for a while, but I'll still be writing other things. I'll come back to it eventually.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Indecision**

He's aware of the emptiness of the room, and that awareness annoys him.

There's nothing here to look at, nothing to read or do. Perhaps the boxes of costumes and glitter would be of interest for a while, or maybe one could content themselves with looking out the window, but in the end there's nothing here to distract the gaze of the girl on the sofa. Her eyes stay fixed on the outside sky for a while and she'll twiddle her thumbs, but inevitably he feels them trail back to him, even for a second, to watch his fingers as the move across the keys.

The gaze is like the ring of a bell, interrupting his work every few seconds. He pauses, his fingers halting, but swiftly returns to his photo-edit program, feeling ever dejected every time he realizes that the shots he's working on are of the one causing his distraction. He doesn't look back at her, but yet he's staring at her all the same, watching how different effects play up the fantastic color of her hair.

He doesn't know how long they wait in silence like that, but at some point the stillness is broken. Soft footsteps in worn shoes cautiously wander closer, begging for attention, but getting none from the coldness of the shoulder facing her. Almost unconsciously he finds himself squeezing against the wall on his opposite side, thinking about trying to escape and then becoming bitter at the cowardly thought. Despite his rising feeling of some sort of righteousness, he can't bring himself to be the one who meets their gazes.

He can barely see the tan material of her pants in his peripheral vision as she stands right next to him. He scrolls faster with his mouse and clicks through shots, quickly preparing them and adding text before moving to the next one.

"Is that really me?" The voice snaps his rhythm harder than he thought it would. He stops mid-word, his hand going limp, and moves his head slightly sideways, keeping his eyes low and face neutral. Slowly she bends down, looking into his eyes momentarily before glancing over to the laptop screen. He looks over, observing the image.

She's sprawled out across a chair, a sleek digital camera in her hands. Teal tresses topple around her and her smile seems brighter than the sun outside. He blinks and nods rather slowly, trying to discourage the girl without having to speak. Instead she gives the photo a strange look and frowns, gesturing to a few things. "I have a scar there. And there's no way my hair is that long. Photoshop really works wonders, huh?" He doesn't have to see her expression to know the distain it holds, however slight it may be. With a sigh he shrugs and finishes his typing, clicking through to the next one.

She stands there quietly, silently watching his work transform her already pretty image into something so ethereal and unrealistic it seems to disturb her. He hears her shift her position and cross her arms, the fabric of her clothes rustling with the movement. Trying to ignore her he focuses whole-heartedly on the shot, burning through it even faster than usual and clicking on the next one. A finished ad appears; he's done them all.

His hands hover stunned over the keys for a moment, wondering how on earth he managed to fix up an entire album of shots in just one day. Somewhat dazed, he looks through all the images again, making sure he didn't miss one, before attaching the file to an email and sending it off to the marketing department. The window of his browser closes and the default desktop background stares back at him, seemingly asking him to change it but mocking him because it knows he won't. A simple green twirl of lines float amidst a sky blue screen, the Crypton logo glowing in a corner. Keeping it is dull. Changing indicates some sort of personality. Not sure which is a better option, he decides to do nothing, becoming slightly disheartened as he realizes that in doing so he is really taking option one after all.

"So…" the girl mumbles, not seeming affected by his silent attempts at avoiding interaction. "Are you done now?" He makes himself look at her, his expression deadpan, and nods once slowly. She returns the action, seemingly thoughtful, and settles into silence, lips pursed as if confused about something. He watches her, fingers drumming anxiously on the desktop, and mulling over how she would react if he simply got up and went to another room. Although he may be ahead in his work now there is always more to do, more he could do, if not for this distracting visitor that doesn't seem to know the meaning of personal space.

He stands up, the quiet churning in his stomach calming as he regains his usual intimidating height. She only blinks mutely at him for a moment though and doesn't step back to let him move away. Trapped between a desk, a chair, a wall, and a girl, he resigns himself to speaking to her, keeping his words brief and professional. "Excuse me." He glances to the side to indicate the directions she should move. She frowns at him, tilting her head slightly, and proposes a command of her own, ignoring – or not noticing – the apprehensive shifting of his feet.

"I don't know your name," she muses, her mouth remaining slightly agape. He looks away, the roiling within him starting up again, and grits his teeth a moment before responding.

"Why do you need to?" Out of the corner of his eyes she crosses her arms and lifts her head, seeming very self-assured and rather indignant. The photographer inwardly cringes, wanting nothing more than to get away from her as fast as he can. It's bad enough that he has to deal with pictures of her.

She smiles slightly, in a trained and not entirely warm way. "Well we've met twice and I still just refer to you as…" She thinks, her pale eyebrows furrowing. "'You' I suppose." Glancing back up at him she continues and he turns his gaze back. "Doesn't seem very fair."

Not truly understanding her statement he replies, a little cynically, "Do you know the names of any of your other photographers?" The model pouts, her tone of voice taking on an annoyed edge that sends him looking away again.

"No, but I'd only ever meet them once." Silence reigns for a second as he tries to think up a retort for that. Just because they'd seen each other more than once doesn't mean that they ever would again. They're nothing to each other; just two temporary coworkers who don't even have a job to do right now. He is about to tell her such and shoo her away when a manicured hand swiftly darts out and snatches a piece of paper on his desk, bringing it up to her face.

"Kaito Shion," she smiles triumphantly, waving the addressed envelope like a small fan. Kaito stares wide-eyed at her for a moment, his mind teetering on the edge of shock, anger, and something else that he can't quite name. "It's nice to meet you, Kaito."

Lowering his lids back to their usual range he places a hand out in front of him, palm up, fingers slightly curled. "It's a felony to read other people's mail," is all he can mutter as she places the letter back in his grasp and he sets it down a safe distance away. Her eyes follow his movement then flicker back up to his face as if expecting something. He stares back, impassive, daring her to make a move.

After a second of muteness Kaito lowers himself back into his seat, breaking their connection and turning back to his computer. Two clicks resound as he opens up a chess game and quickly sets up a match against the computer, trying to omit the girl from further dealings with him. However, ever determined to thwart his efforts, she moves to look over his shoulder and watches for a while in silence, her breath barely ghosting down the back of his neck. He doesn't turn around to look but he can imagine the expressions she might be making; interest, confusion, boredom, annoyance. Pushing them to the back of his mind he focuses on taking the white team's bishop, reassuring himself that it doesn't really matter what she thinks anyway.

Cornering the king with his rooks and a knight, a glowing 'checkmate' flashes across the screen before showing his score. He allows himself the tiniest of smirks and leans back in his chair, only realizing after his head hits empty space that the model is no longer behind him. With a glance around he finds her near the sofa, picking up her bag and straightening out her shirt. Before he can look away she notices him and grins at his slightly confused expression which he quickly tries to hide.

"I'm heading out," she explains, her voice a little tense underneath it's cheery overlay. Kaito quickly looks back to the screen as if he hand never glanced away rests his hands on the keyboard. A finger or two rises in farewell.

There's a small sound of shuffling as she walks to the door, searching through her purse for something. The sound of the door resounds through the loft but halts halfway through its length.

"My name's Miku." Her voice is a little louder than usual, as if she's trying to make sure he'll hear her correctly. "Miku Hatsune."

"I know," he says simply, his tone unconsciously ticking up as well. Of course he knew. He had to label all those files as something.

A small hum of contentment follows his statement and the door finally swings shut, clicking into place almost musically. Despite himself, Kaito strains his ears to listen as her footsteps disappear down the hallway and into the elevator. When all is silent, he stops typing for a moment and waits, wading through the strange ambivalence of relief and disappointment that washes through him. He taps his fingers, faster and faster, appreciating the distracting noise, until eventually his head slams into the desk and he leaves it there, suddenly too tired to care about the pain.

* * *

**A/N: **_I'm back! *_woot woot*

Yeah, I was actually back Sunday, but you know...laziness :P

And now my little wall of Marionette inability has been broken! Yes! And the next update is mostly written too!

*Jumps up and down a little*

Though...I don't know what happened to Miku in this chapter. She seems like such a pest. I guess since I'm writing it from Kaito's POV and she's annoying the heck out of him...

Honestly, who just goes around stealing other people's mail?

So anyway, I feel like I have a lot to say. First of all, I don't think I mention enough how much I appreciate all of you. Your reviews and favorites and just knowing that someone is reading just makes me so amazed and proud that I don't even know what to do with myself. I usually just wind up walking around humming really happy songs all day ;). If you have any story ideas, praise, or help for my writing please let me hear it! I would probably never keep writing without all of you! Please continue to support me! I love all of you so much! :D

Also, school is about to start for me so my updates may be a little slower. It's pretty hard to write during the school year. Essays take priority over fics ;A;. From now on I'll be switching back and forth between Before December and Marionette until I finish one.

Oh, and again, if you want me to update faster or just have something to say, leave a review! I'll give you cookies! Or maybe a gift fic if you do it consistently!


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